Once again, I wake up to a sun-less sky — gray and sullen. the birds, lulled to sleep by the ominous stretch of heavy clouds, crouch frighteningly inside their nests; their chirping, drowned out by the silence of a mid-November morning.
it’s going to rain, I thought to myself.
The thought hovered above me, as if there was more to it than just a mere prediction. it would seem ironic almost by the time nighttime comes.
Living in a one-bedroom apartment with three other people can be suffocating at times. everything has to be shared — the bathroom, the bedroom, even the closet. The overwhelming need to breathe fresh air and run in free open space gets to you everytime. Thus, today, I willed myself to pull out of the squeaking bed and welcome the morning, dead as it is, with lifted spirits.
The “outside” seemed a little less threatening. at 7am, poor lost souls of early birds can be seen jogging along the sidewalk or just walking, maybe waiting for a glint of sunlight. i live by the city park. since childhood, it has been the only witness to all the cuts and bruises that i got, now painting my body in ugly scars. the park has been my refuge for solitude. everytime an argument erupts at home, I know i could always count on the empty greenery for companionship.
I trudged along my usual path — through the bald-ing grass, around the baseball field, to the benches. they were old wood benches; the white paint flaking off around the edges. however, it’s easy to notice how the paint on the seats never wore off. maybe people’s butts have polished it clean. everyone’s guess is as good as mine.
Today, I had company. an old 60-ish man sat on the bench facing the east. I stood there staring at him for a full one minute. I never had company this early. his head lifted towards the sky, he held up his right arm and motioned for me to sit with him. I did as i was asked, doubtful of his intentions. but then again, what can a 60-year-old grandpa do to harm me?
“I lost my grandson today,” he said.
I didn’t say anything his voice seemed burdened with speech and his eyes, sparkling with fresh unshod tears.
maybe it’s about to rain.
He continued to tell me how his grandson, an 8-year-old boy stricken with cancer, finally left them after 4 years of battling intensive chemotherapy. Just a few weeks before he died, his parents were evicted from their apartment for unpaid rent — three months rent. The family moved in with the grandpa, unable to find anywhere else to go and with little less than a few thousand bucks to spare. Six weeks the family endured hunger and sleepless nights just to hold their son another hour, another day, another week. Despite his will to live, the child couldn’t last a minute longer of pain. Until his last breath, he whispered a sweet goodbye to the family who never gave up on him.
I was dumbfounded. images of my parents arguing over financial problems, a brother pushing me to the end knot of my patience, friends who only want me to themselves. Mine were mundane trivialities compared to this man’s 4-year suffering. I looked at him, his head still waiting for that sun, and held his hand. slowly, he shifted his head towards me and gave me a grateful smile. he found what he was looking for, a listening ear — that was his sunshine.
I walk home with a boiling mixture of emotions. I was right. It did rain. A downpour of revelations about the endurance of a human spirit. I’m not sure whether things will change from now just because of a conversation. Maybe it will, who knows. and maybe, tomorrow, the sun will rise.
Life-Love-Relationships and beyond 